This morning there was a light
somewhere a song
something not quite dead
that rang out and hurtled
into the resounding spiral of my ear
worked its way under my tongue
Perhaps it was the young hart
ambling across the field
or the pair of black woodpeckers
like Graculus with a red kippah.
Something winged into the not-blue
of the morning sky and echoed
a sort of antique salpinx of hope.